Our Little Secret (10 page)

He leans in, his mouth close to my ear, to speak above the music. I feel his hand on the curve of my waist. And in this half-embrace, every nerve tingles. I close my eyes briefly, trying to steady myself. I breathe in his delicious scent.

‘You look sensational,’ he says.

As I open my eyes I look ahead to the bar, where people are staring at us. There’s a photographer with a long lens pointing at us.

19

As the evening wears on, I notice Edward occasionally scanning the crowd. Is he waiting for his wife to show up, I wonder? What will happen if she does? He makes no mention of her, and neither do I. I think about bringing her up, and try and find a way to chat about her, but each time I do, the words feel all wrong to say and then I give up.

Despite the fact that everyone in the room knows exactly who he is, Edward stays close to me all night. at first, I think it’s only for show, but I get the impression that he’s enjoying talking so intimately in my ear. I don’t mind. I like his arm being around me, or his leg being pressed against mine. It’s like we’re playing a game, pretending to be a couple.

I’ve never had the undivided attention of someone who is clearly the most important man in the room and, to my eye at least, the best-looking by a mile. I can’t stop staring at him. Just the way his eyebrows are fascinates me. I just want to touch his face and press my finger into that dimple on his cheek. I can see the start of some hair on his chest above the top of the button on his shirt. The more intimately he talks to me, the more of him I want.

I start to enjoy myself and stop being nervous. And after a few more of those delicious vodkas, I start to feel perfectly protected by him, like his rare plant. If people are talking about us, let them. I don’t care.

He gives me a private low-down on the various people in the room, secretly pointing out agents and artists, salespeople and critics. He has an opinion on them all. Most of them make me smile. He seems so serious, but actually he’s got a great sense of humour.

‘See that guy? Over there? With the bushy eyebrows. Two o’clock. Man, he has a serious breath problem. Agent. Nightmare. Always fleecing me.’

Edward is approached endlessly, but as soon as anyone comes near us, he seems to freeze him or her out and, when he pointedly doesn’t introduce me, they quickly leave.

I like monopolizing his attention. Like I’ve got one over on everyone else in the room. I feel like the ‘It’ girl – a feeling I’ve never had before, but have always wanted.

‘So, how come you’re in this whole art-world thing?’ I ask him.

‘The art-world thing,’ he says, repeating my accent. Amusement dances in his eyes. Then he shrugs. ‘I wanted to be an artist, once upon a time,’ he admits. ‘I loved drawing. It was my passion for a while.’

‘So why didn’t you pursue it?’

‘There are other far more talented artists than me,’ he says. ‘And I realized that my talent is actually bringing out the best in other people.’

He stares right at me as he says this, and then he looks at my lips. It’s as if he’s suddenly thought about kissing me and, for a nanosecond, the rest of the room shrinks.

‘Come, let’s look around,’ he says. He holds my hands tightly as we negotiate the walkway downstairs.

He’s holding my hand.

When we get to the bottom of the steps, I don’t want to let him go, but he does, putting his arm around my shoulder and leading me over to the paintings. Several people come up to him and greet him, but his arm stays around me. A couple of clearly affluent women look me up and down enviously.

‘So is this guy one of yours?’ I ask Edward, nodding to the giant black canvas ahead of us.

‘No. This isn’t to my taste. He’s talented, but I don’t agree with the direction he’s taken.’

I get the sense that Edward is a difficult man to please. He’s also someone who knows what he likes.

‘So what is your taste?’

He turns to me and smiles, and there’s the dimple again. ‘Simplicity,’ he says. ‘Beauty.’

‘Real women,’ I remind him, with a wry smile. I can’t help remembering his passion about Marnie and right now, with this sexual energy building between us, I feel that it’s the right moment to remind him about it.

‘Real women, of course,’ he says. ‘But I like most of all to find something unexpected.’

Is he talking about me? Am I unexpected?

‘And then I have no control. I have to have it.’

My heart is pulsing as we carry on walking through the gallery. My head is light from all the drinks, but also from what he’s just said.

We’ve reached the back of the gallery now, where the crowd is thinner. There’s a kind of side-room enclave to our right where there are smaller paintings.

We’re just about to walk into it together, when Edward’s phone rings in his pocket. He takes it out, looks at the caller and then excuses himself. He nods at me to go into the smaller gallery space and wait for him.

He smiles at me and points at me to stay where I am, as he backs away, and I want to bend my knees and do a little victory jig.

Bloody hell.
He is just utterly gorgeous. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that tonight would turn out like this. I try and figure out how long it’s been since I’ve actually been in the country, but it can’t only be thirty-six hours – that’s ridiculous. It feels like I’ve been here forever, and I’m loving every moment.

I can’t begin to think about what it means, but surely this isn’t all one-sided. He must get this crazy connection, too, right? You don’t just meet someone and click the way we have, surely?

I walk further into the small gallery and take an audible exhale, cautioning myself to calm down. Edward Parker is married. Married,
duh
. And he’s my employer. Nothing is going to happen between us . . . as in, ever.

But even as I think that, I can’t help remembering the way his eyes connected with mine in the mirror this morning, or how it felt when he leant right up against me and told me I looked sensational. It felt like he was lighting me up from the inside. And I want to feel like that more.

I stare at the smaller pictures on the wall in this space. I can’t say that I can make out what they’re of. If anything, they look like the photos you see of star constellations, mainly with black backgrounds with shimmering, jewel-coloured splodges across them. There are a few sketches, but they’re literally just a couple of lines. I lean in to see the label on the painting. ‘WOMAN RECLINING,’ it says. I stand back and try and see how those two lines could possibly be a woman reclining? Is this whole art world just total bollocks, as I’ve always suspected?

‘So. You and Edward Parker?’

I turn to see that someone has joined me in the small gallery. It’s the guy from the stairs in the crumpled brown suit. The one who was looking at me when the photographers were taking pictures? There’s a sly insinuation in his tone, which is backed up in the look he gives me now.

I stare at him, not hiding from my expression how offended I am.

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s an interesting guy,’ he continues. His eyes are full of questions and he’s scanning me, taking in every detail of my attire. I feel self-conscious as he stares at my cleavage. ‘I’m Harry, by the way,’ he says, as if he’s suddenly remembered his manners, and he retrieves his hand from his pocket to shake mine. ‘Harry Poulston.’

‘Hi,’ I put my hand up in a limp wave and look over my shoulder for Edward.

Harry cocks his head, expecting me to exchange pleasantries, but I suddenly remember my promise to Edward not to say anything or give anything away. As the obvious silence lengthens, I stare down at my glass again and press my lips together.

He nods, as if realizing something and smiles. ‘Oh I get it.’ He nods again and points at me. He smiles, but it’s not a friendly smile, like Edward’s, but a sneaky one. ‘The cat’s got your tongue, right? Or are you a mute?’ He pretends to think, putting his finger on his lips. ‘Or have you been subjected to a gagging order, too?’

He knows about the gagging order?
I stare at him, wondering what this is all about, but my gesture has given me away.

‘Ah, yes,’ he says, still sizing me up. ‘Quite a little show you’ve put on tonight. Quite a show indeed.’ He watches me again. ‘But those are slippery people, the Parkers. Between you and me, you should be careful what you’re getting yourself into.’

I glance around more desperately this time, wanting Edward to come back. I don’t like this guy. He gives me the creeps. I give him my best withering look, but he seems to take strength from my discomfort.

‘Strange, don’t you think, that they’ve moved from Manhattan to the middle of nowhere? Although no one seems to know why? Or where, for that matter.’

‘That’s because it’s none of your business,’ I blurt out, feeling defensive. This is exactly what Edward warned me about. People probing, asking questions. This guy is probably a journalist. A snooper.

‘Oh. A Limey,’ he says, taking in my accent and grinning widely. ‘Well, well,’ he says, as if this makes sense to him. ‘I bet you know where they’ve run to, don’t you?’ he says, leaning in close to stare into my eyes.

I recoil away. I wish he’d just fuck off. Where is Edward?

‘Funny they went right after that business with the missing painting . . .’

He lets the comment hang in the air. I look at him. What missing painting?

I back away and he realizes he’s gone too far. He puts out his hands in surrender. ‘Listen. You seem like a nice girl. I just don’t want you to get mixed up in anything, you know . . . ?’

‘No, I don’t know,’ I snap. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please leave me alone.’

He smiles, disappointed, and nods. ‘OK, Princess,’ he says. ‘Have it your way. But here’s my card. I will get to bottom of the mysterious Parkers, with or without your help. But if you ever want to talk, then please . . .’

He thrusts the cards towards me, so that I have no choice but to take it.

And as I hold it in my hand, I turn and my eyes connect with Edward’s.

He’s across the gallery in a few quick strides and takes my elbow as he quickly escorts me away from Harry. He’s going too fast and I almost trip. I turn back to see Harry raising his eyebrows again. He’s clearly delighted that he’s made Edward so angry.

‘What did he say?’ Edward hisses when we’re out of earshot. He takes the card out of my hand and crushes it in his fist and drops it on the floor.

‘Nothing. He just had questions.’

‘So
not
nothing,’ Edward counters back, as if I’m being stupid. I’m frightened by his tone. I want nice Edward back.

‘He was snooping round, wanting to know why you moved, where you lived.’ I don’t tell him about his comment about the missing painting.

‘Fuck!’ Edward swears. It’s weird to hear him swear. He’s not the type. He’s clearly cross.
Really
cross. He stops suddenly, when we’re back in the large gallery, and turns to me. His eyes are blazing. ‘And what did you say?’

‘Nothing,’ I tell him, talking loudly over the thumping music, the beat of which throbs with my cheeks. ‘Nothing at all. I promise you.’

He leans in closer, his eyes boring into mine, like he can rewind the experience by the sheer force of his stare and replay it to his own satisfaction. For a moment I’m really scared. I glimpse now that there’s something lurking inside him, something deep down and scary that I don’t want to unleash.

‘I promise,’ I tell him again, but I feel shaky. Suddenly, I want to cry. I’m way out of my depth. ‘You can trust me. I told you that.’

He nods and exhales, like he’s deflating. His flash of anger suddenly shuts off, as if he’s slammed the door on it. Then he embraces me in a tight hug. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry,’ he says, stroking my hair. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I just can’t stand guys like him. And it annoys me that he honed in like a vulture, the second my back was turned.’

‘It’s OK. I understand,’ I say. But I don’t. I don’t understand anything at all. But all I can think of is the relief of his embrace.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he whispers in my ear.

20

The journey back home seems to take no time at all in comparison to the time it took to drive from the house, but maybe that’s because I have Edward to occupy me. We sit in the back, the low light on, and he tops up my glass with champagne. He has his legs stretched out and I’m propped up with pillows, my feet on the seat and I’m covered in a soft check blanket.

I have my phone plugged into a cradle that’s popped out of the door and I’ve had my playlist on. He has different taste from me, but I’m surprised at our mutual love of The Killers. He’s got a great voice. We’re laughing as we sing along. I don’t care about Trewin. He’s behind the glass. I’m just so relieved to be out of the gallery and alone with Edward. Nice Edward. Not angry Edward. I don’t ever want to incur his fury again.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you. This phone is useless at the house,’ I tell him, as I lean forward to change the song. I take a slurp of champagne. I feel giddy and pissed – but in a great way, not in a slurry way. The kind of pissed you always want to be when you have a drink – like you’re on sparkling form. ‘I have no reception or Internet. Is that something we can sort out?’ I ask casually, peering at the screen to put on another playlist.

‘I’m sure we can,’ he says, but when I look up, he’s frowning. ‘That’s more Marnie’s department than mine. She’ll help you. Ask her.’

Marnie. It’s the first time he’s mentioned her tonight. I’m suddenly nervous. Like we’ve hit on a taboo subject. I don’t know how she’d feel if she could see me now, drinking champagne with her husband. And, yes, I can’t deny it – flirting with him.

Having never met her, I really can’t imagine what they’re like together. I’ve put thoughts of her entirely on hold this evening, but now it’s as if she’s here in the car with us. I shrink back in the seat, wrapping the blanket around my legs.

‘I haven’t met Mrs Parker,’ I say, keen to make her name just as formal as he makes mine.

‘Oh? Haven’t you?’ he asks. He sounds genuinely surprised by this news. ‘Wasn’t she at the house when you arrived, yesterday?’